Harry Potter and the Shroud of Darkness
by Kate the Great
Summary: Harry's having a hard time dealing with everything. (cutting, suicidal thoughts)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue  
a/n: hope I don't horribly dissapoint you... thanks for reading!  
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Harry woke suddenly in the middle of the night, breathing rapidly, his hand on his forehead.   
  
"Ouch," he whispered, rubbing his fingers up and down his burning scar. It had been this way for weeks; more often than not, he would be unpleasantly woken in this way after an unpleasant dream. Only, Harry knew these were more than dreams.   
  
They were real.  
  
He sat up slowly. He sighed deeply, and looked out of his window at Privet Drive. Not a single window was lit, not a single person was awake. Everyone was sleeping soundly, without being woken by sharp pains and visions of the most evil wizard in the world.  
  
Harry sighed again, and lay back down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was hard trying to go to sleep again, knowing what he would likely see. Night after night, viewing these events.... It was wearing him down, wearing him out, taking him to the point where he dreaded going to sleep each night.  
  
*I just wish it would stop,* Harry thought. *If there was only some way I could make it stop....*  
  
*But there *is* a way,* thought another voice, the one that says the things you don't always want to hear. *You know what it is. It would be so easy, you've got that knife Sirius gave you for Christmas right there in your trunk.*  
  
Harry closed his eyes momentarily and exhaled, pulling himself together. He wouldn't do anything as drastic as that.... Yet he still found his gaze settled on his trunk.  
  
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Harry sat on his floor, leaning against his bed, looking around his room. He preferred to stay in here being quiet, away from his muggle relatives and hoping they'd forget about him. He was gone almost ten months each year, after all.  
  
Harry tried to think, think about anything except Voldemort, but here it was hard. He glanced up at Hedwig's empty cage. He had no one to keep him company, either.  
  
*I wonder what Ron's doing,* Harry thought idly, and with a lot of effort. He stopped, then turned his gaze back to his trunk. He stared for a few seconds, his pulse starting to speed up, and then, in an instant, he was at the trunk.  
  
He fumbled slightly with the latches as he hastily opened the trunk and found what he was looking for. He opened the blade of his precious knife and examined it closely, his heart racing.  
  
*Oh, what a fine knife it is. It's perfect.*  
  
A sound. Harry jumped slightly, and looked around. Hedwig. He watched her fly into her cage and start drinking some water. No letter, though.  
  
Harry glanced back at the knife he was still holding. If they knew, if Ron or Hermione or anyone knew.... Harry tossed the knife onto the floor in the corner, and sat on the floor in the corner opposite, stroking Hedwig when she came over to greet him.  
  
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*What a stupid, meaningless life I have. Yes, that's really all I can say about it. You can't really call this meaningful, stuck here day after day, with nothing to do and nothing else to think about.... And you certainly can't call it really living. It's just... existing. Yes, that's all, existing, being nothing more than a warm and breathing body. Cedric stopped breathing...* Harry closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the memory. Why wasn't there anything to distract him? Why?  
  
Harry looked around vainly, desperately for anything unharmful to distract him from his thoughts. He found nothing. All he saw was the inside of the smallest bedroom of number four, Privet Drive. He glanced out the window. Nothing but the cruel, grey suburban sky, above the tidy, identical suburban houses. It was completely normal, completely unremarkable; there was nothing magical, none of what Harry thrived on, but at the same time cause him so much pain.  
  
Harry held his closed penknife in his hand, stroking it gently, contemplating it. It could be so easy... but would it be right? He didn't know.  
  
Harry glanced up suddenly as Hedwig swooped into the room.  
  
"Hey, Hedwig," Harry said quitely to his owl, and untied the letter she was carrying.  
  
"It says I can come Sunday," Harry told the owl, who was looking at him inquisitively. Hedwig glanced at the knife Harry was still holding and back at him, and Harry realized what she was questioning him about. He swiftly tossed it under his bed, out of view.  
  
"It's okay, Hedwig. See? It's okay," Harry said half to himself, stroking the owl. "It's okay."  
  
Hedwig hooted and went back to her cage to drink her water while Harry wrote a reply. He tied it to her leg, then she hooted again and left.  
  
Harry watched her path through the air for a moment, then retrieved the knife from under his bed. He resumed his place, sitting, thinking, holding the knife. 


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: thanks CokeFreak; Maxx77; blackenedsoul; Danielle; wowsergirl; Shadowsofpain; Arizosa; whitemudfounder, The World's Only Founder of White Mud; and punkpixie87 for reviewing. You kept me going when I felt too worthless to go on!   
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Harry had a week to go yet before he would be going to The Burrow, and in the meantime he had absolutely nothing to do. Nothing, that is, but to be alone with his thoughts.  
  
*Am I really willing to do it? And is it really necessary? Most importantly, is it *right?**.  
  
Harry didn't know. He *couldn't* know.   
  
And so he sat, trying to figure it out.  
  
Maybe he didn't have to... right now. Although it would be ideal... away from the wizarding world.... Maybe he could just find some way to buy some time, to cope, for the time being, until he had the time to think it through, and understand if what he wanted to do was easy, or if it were right.  
  
Harry was on the floor, leaning back against his closet door. He knew it was crazy, but he didn't quite feel happy about returning to the wizarding world. He didn't want to have to think, to face the others, to seem okay. Although he was depressed, he embraced the feeling, and didn't find a need to feel any other way.  
  
Maybe he just needed to forget.  
  
Harry really didn't know what to do. He was overwhelmed with guilt, frustration, and some strange responsibility, to be good, to tolerate, to stay out of trouble, to live, and to save the world if he found himself in that situation, although he could barely escape. It was impossible. He could do nothing, be nothing, only exist, engulfed in this overwhelming pain until finally, one day, Voldemort or one of his followers killed him. He couldn't be protected forever. He was without hope.  
  
Now would truly be the ideal time to kill himself, before going to the Weasleys, and then back to Hogwarts, where there were no wizards to look out for him and he could be sure not to be found for many hours. But Harry wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, or if he would have the nerve. He needed time to think.  
  
Harry opened the blade of the knife he was holding in his hands. He was intrigued by it. He stroked the smooth, broad edge as he carefully examined it. It... *would* work, right? Certainly it would.... But he had to test it somehow, to make sure.  
  
*How am I going to do this? I can't just...cut myself, someone would see. I'll have to test it on something else.* Harry got up, and looked around the room. What could he test the knife on? He walked across the room and picked up one of Dudley's dusty old unused books and opened it. His eyes wandered over the first page, which wasn't the first page really, but only blue paper. He took the knife, and it easily made a tiny cut into the page.  
  
*There,* thought Harry, closing the book and putting it back in it's place, *it'll work fine. But...* Harry glanced down at the knife. He wanted to try it, he hated to admit to himself. He sat down again, this time leaning against his dresser.  
  
*How can I do this?* He had to plan it carefully. *It should be rather hard for anyone to find out.* Harry fidgeted with the knife. *Well... I'm right-handed, so my left would be easier to hide. And... I don't want to accidentally hit a vein, then I'll bleed everywhere and I certainly will have a hard time of hiding that.* Harry brought his left wrist closer to his face so as to see it better, then brought the knife up to it and gently dragged the knife over the underside of his wrist, carefully avoiding his veins.  
  
Harry gasped slightly with pain. The stinging of the knife tore through his skin and spread through the rest of him. Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the pain, letting it engulf him. It ran through him as though it were his blood, his breath, his life, his very being. For a few precious moments the pain was everything Harry was, was everything he wanted and ever was going to be.  
  
And then it began fading away, leaving him, concentrating only at the wound. Harry slowly reopened his eyes, breathing deeply, and looked at the cut. It was probably longer than it should have been, but it wasn't bleeding much, for it was one of those miraculous types that pain more than bleed, and for this Harry was grateful. He at last brought his wrist to his mouth to suck the wound as one instinctively does, and his mouth filled with the bitter taste of his own blood.  
  
For a few precious moments, he had been nothing but pain.  
  
He had found a way to forget. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next week was a torturous one for Harry. The muggle world held nothing to distract him from his thoughts and his pain. Yet the magical world would hold all to remind him.  
  
Harry tried desperately not to cut again. It was hard. After finding a way to momentarily forget everything, it was extremely hard to give up, not to do again.   
  
Which is why he didn't quite succeed.  
  
But now it was Sunday, which meant that Harry would be returning to The Burrow at last. How, he didn't know. So Harry just stood, looking out his window, waiting for something somewhere to happen.  
  
And it did. A car drove down the road, then pulled into the Dursley's driveway. Harry watched as a balding man and three of his sons got out of the car. All of them had red hair. Harry gently tugged down his left sleeve, and dashed downstairs. He opened the front door before they even got to it.  
  
"Hey Harry," Ron said, grinning at him. Harry returned the smile. He had decided to keep everything private. Not that he really had any other choice, he would never be able to bring himself to tell Ron or Hermione or anyone about any of it.  
  
"We'll get your stuff," said George, and he and Fred went up the stairs.  
  
"How've you been?" Ron asked Harry.  
  
"All right, I guess." *Complete, total lie.*  
  
"That's good. Hermione's already arrived." They started toward the ministry car, followed shortly behind by Fred and George, who were grinning mysteriously.  
  
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"Harry!" Hermione greeted Harry with a hug, to his displeasure.  
  
"Hullo," he said wearily. Hermione pulled away, looking him over. She was disturbed by a change in his appearance she couldn't quite place, like he looked older and younger at the same time.  
  
Harry smiled. Not much, but he didn't know what else to do.  
  
"Come on, let's go up to my room," Ron suggested. Ron closed the door behind him when the three of them got there.  
  
"How've you been, Harry?" he asked seriously.  
  
"Fine," Harry said rather quickly, rubbing the fingers of his left hand over the outside near end of his left sleeve, thankful for the overly large size of his shirt. "I've been fine."  
  
"Really?" Hermione asked.  
  
"*Yes,*" said Harry, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'm *fine.*"  
  
"All right..." she said, looking doubtful. *She can't know, can she?*  
  
"Great," said Ron, smiling, looking a bit relieved. He could have no idea what Harry had to cope with, but was glad to see he was handling it well.  
  
Harry sighed inwardly with relief as the three of them went back downstairs. They didn't know. They weren't *going* to know. They'd never gang up on him like that again, and they'd let him deal with it and make his decision in relative peace. He hoped.  
  
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Harry gazed up at his own reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror in the Weasleys' bathroom, the only place he could be alone. He didn't like his appearance: his messy black hair, bright green eyes, glasses, scar. He shifted his gaze downward.  
  
There he saw his hands. They were steady, perhaps surprisingly so, as one was holding a knife and the other was held out further, bringing the revealed wrist just inches under the blade.  
  
Harry examined his wrist. There were already cuts there, healing. He didn't regret one of them.  
  
Harry brought the knife slowly and carefully down. He felt the cool edge of the knife on his skin for a moment before the stinging surged through him.  
  
Harry gave a soft, short gasp of pain, then let the feeling travel momentarily through the rest of him, willing it to stay for a few precious moments longer. Then it was centered back around the wound, and lingered, Harry focusing his whole being on the pain and becoming it once more. He felt nothing else, he thought nothing else, he was nothing else, just the pain, until it slowly started to ebb away.  
  
Harry sat back against the wall and leaned his head back, closing his eyes, concentrating on the pain that was leaving him, trying desperately to forget for a little while longer. After several moments he opened his eyes and looked back at his wrist. It was still bleeding, not profusely, not more than he could handle, but probably a bit more than he could be comfortable with.   
  
He watched it bleed. Watching his blood leave him gave him an odd feeling of satisfaction and caused his mind to go blank. Soon he had to get up and wash it off in the sink. Then he watched it bleed some more, until finally it stopped. Harry surveyed the wet redness of the blood over his arm that came from the cut, then gently rinsed it away. Making sure all the blood was gone, he carefully dried his arm and hands, pulled down his sleeve, and left.  
  
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It was a beautiful summer day, which Hermione, Harry, and Ron had chose to spend outside. Currently they were in the shade under a tree, Harry unusually quiet and sitting a bit apart from Ron and Hermione.  
  
Harry laid down on his back, staring up into the leaves of the tree. Hermione and Ron stopped talking and glanced over at him for a moment, then looked away and continued their conversation. Harry was grateful they were letting him be alone.  
  
He needed to think. His dreams were only getting worse, as was the situation in the wizarding world, from what little information was coming to the surface. The ministry was still denying that Voldemort had even come back, but all of them were able to read between the lines.  
  
Harry wanted peace, and couldn't see any way to get it. Any way, that is, except to take his own life. But he still needed to figure out if suicide would be easy or if it would be right.   
  
He wanted peace. He wanted rest. He wanted to escape, to really escape, for all these problems, for Voldemort, to go away, and he didn't see any way for that to happen. Harry didn't see any way for it to ever stop, and as far as he could tell, there was nothing for him to do to help.  
  
He gently ran his thumb under his sleeve and over each cut on his wrist. This is what his life had come down to. Existing, moment to moment, only feeling real and at peace while he was cutting, while the rest of the time trying not to. He was trying not to find peace, because of his life, because of how the world would react to his cutting. Because cutting was the only thing that brought him peace.  
  
Harry glanced over at Hermione and Ron. How would they react, if they knew? They'd both be saddened, confused, and upset, he knew that. They wouldn't be able to understand. They didn't have to experience what Harry was experiencing, what he had already experienced.  
  
No one did.  
  
Harry turned his head and looked toward the Weasleys' home. They had been so kind, taking him in at their own risk. At their own risk.... Harry quickly turned his gaze back to Ron and Hermione, so quickly that he attracted their attention once more.  
  
Harry smiled at them. They smiled back. Harry looked back up at the tree, and Ron and Hermione continued talking.  
  
Harry couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to Ron or Hermione. Or any of the Weasleys, or any of his other friends.... The list just went on and on. Them being around him, around Voldemort's inevitable target, were putting them at serious risk. It would really be good for all of them if he were gone.  
  
And he was so much trouble to have around as well. Dumbledore had to put up special protections around the Burrow on account of Harry coming to stay there. He had more important things to be doing, he had Hogwarts, he had such influence over so many people's lives. He couldn't waste so much time and energy for Harry's sake. And he wasn't the only one making special accommodations for Harry. Harry felt that he was too much trouble to have around. And too much risk.  
  
And so it was decided. Now all he needed to figure out was when.  
  
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"Hurry!" Mrs. Weasley said to her children, Harry, and Hermione. They were at King's Cross station between platforms nine and ten on September first, and eleven o'clock was rapidly approaching.  
  
Harry ran through the barrier. There it was, the gleaming scarlet Hogwarts Express, which would bring him back to Hogwarts... where he would meet his death.  
  
Ron and Hermione smiled at Harry as they came through the barrier. He smiled back. They boarded the train. After putting away their things, they went to the window to say goodbye.  
  
"Take care of yourself," Mr. Weasley said to Harry. "All of you."  
  
"I will, Mr. Weasley."  
  
The train started to move, and with his right hand Harry waved goodbye. 


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks CokeFreak, whitemudfounder, *****, Shadowsofpain, coolchick207, The Lady Sorcha of Sevenwaters, Maxx77, and Arizosa for reviewing to chapter three. :)  
  
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"Harry!"  
  
"No, no, I'm sorry, no, no, no," Harry murmured.  
  
"Harry! Wake up!" Harry was shook awake and wearily opened his eyes to face Ron. He opened his mouth as if to say something important, then with a seeming realization closed it.  
  
"You all right?" Ron asked him.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said somewhat distractedly, sitting up.  
  
He discreetly pulled down the left sleeve of his pajamas.  
  
"It's time for breakfast," Ron said.  
  
"Huh? Oh. Right. Okay. I'll be down in a minute." Ron left, leaving Harry alone.  
  
Harry turned to sit on the edge of his bed, and sighed heavily, collapsing, supporting his head in his hands. He'd just had a terrible dream, and it hadn't even been a vision. It was just a dream.   
  
Harry felt so completely overwhelmed. He had no idea what to do with himself for the moment. He needed to plan, he needed to cope, and in the meantime he needed to seem as though everything were fine.  
  
He reached under his mattress and found what he was looking for. He brought it out and slowly pulled up his left sleeve, then opened up the knife.  
  
Harry found an uncut place on his wrist and brought the knife down to it. He pressed down slightly, and dragged the knife across his skin.  
  
He closed his eyes as the stinging shot through him and he savored the pain. It was great and incredible, deeper and more wonderful than he even remembered. As the pain slowly began to fade he opened his eyes to watch himself bleed.  
  
It was amazing. He really loved watching himself bleed, and the strange feeling of peace and comfort that it always brought. After a minute he got up and gently washed it away. He noticed, but it never sunk in how much extra blood there was this time.  
  
Harry got dressed, glad now to have the robes, for they had long sleeves and he felt far more comfortable wearing them than he had at the Weasleys', where he had to wear shirts with long sleeves during the summer, and was living in constant fear of suspicion. He pushed back the left sleeve to look at the cuts once more. The older ones were healing, but he could already tell they would leave a faint scar. He still didn't regret them.  
  
Harry still didn't feel quite ready to go down to breakfast yet. He lay on back on top of his bed and closed his eyes. He felt like he was spinning. He didn't know how long he laid there like that, everything blank and spinning and dark, before the sensation stopped. He opened his eyes. He felt tired. He got up rather slowly, and noiselessly started to head downstairs.  
  
"*There* you are!" Hermione greeted Harry in the entrance hall. She noticed suddenly that Harry looked tired and unusually pale. She shook off the observation for now.  
  
"What took you?" Ron asked.  
  
"Um," said Harry. Ron and Hermione were looking at him expectantly. Harry shrugged. Ron rolled his eyes.  
  
"We brought you some toast," Hermione said, handing it to Harry.  
  
"Oh," he said. "Thank you."  
  
"We got our new schedules," Ron said, handing Harry's to him. "Herbology first. Not bad."  
  
Harry didn't say anything. Herbology was with the Hufflepuffs. With Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory's death and loss of the Triwizard Tournament last year, he expected it to be awkward.  
  
As the three of them approached the greenhouses an odd hush came over the students waiting outside. They noticed, and Ron and Hermione glanced at Harry uneasily. The class abruptly started talking again, more loudly than before.  
  
"I was right then," Harry said under his breath.  
  
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"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron a few days later as they were leaving breakfast.  
  
"Divination." Harry groaned.  
  
"*Why?*" he moaned. Hermione looked smug.  
  
"Yeah, I know, it sucks, doesn't it?" Ron replied.  
  
"You should have dropped it like I did," Hermione said in a superior tone.  
  
"You always tell us that," Ron said.  
  
"Well you should have! Trelawney's an old quack, everyone knows it. Well, maybe not them." She tilted her head toward Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who were happily running in the direction of the Divination tower. Ron sighed.  
  
"Come on, Harry, let's go." Hermione waved at them with an air of obnoxious superiority as they went their different ways. "This'll be a nightmare."  
  
"It will be awful, at least," Harry said. As bad as Divination was, his nightmares were always at least a hundred times worse.  
  
The three of them got their books, and then Harry and Ron started going to Divination, as Hermione waved goodbye to them in an annoying way on the way to her class. Ron made a face at her.  
  
As they reached the entrance to the Divination classroom, a hush came over the students already assembled there. Harry had realized by now that it wasn't only the Hufflepuffs who were acting strangely toward him.  
  
A few minutes later, the trapdoor in the ceiling opened and the silver stepladder came down, and all was silent once more. One by one they entered the classroom.  
  
Harry coughed as he got hit by the wave of heavily perfumed air and felt his head start to spin. Blinking, he tried to shake it off and sat down.  
  
"Hello, class," came a misty voice from nowhere, making everyone jump. Professor Trelawney glided into view, surveying the room.  
  
"Ah, I knew you would jump. We have a lot of work to do. You have gotten out of touch with your Inner Eye. You should have known I would appear just then." She turned her enormous gaze on each face in turn, smiling at Lavender and Parvati when she reached them. Harry lowered his eyes as Professor Trelawney turned to him. He squirmed under her lingering gaze, and raised his eyes to meet her tear-filled ones.   
  
"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "I have seen most terrible things in your future. Your short future."  
  
It was too much. Harry dropped his gaze again, and looked around the room to find everyone else staring at him, too. She always was like this. She couldn't know. Could she? He squirmed again and looked at Ron. He rolled his eyes, lightening the tension for Harry. Harry looked back up at Professor Trelawney, who made a sound as if she were choking back a sob and swiftly turned away.  
  
"Don't listen to her, Harry, you know she's just an old quack," Ron whispered to him encouragingly.  
  
Harry nodded in response, drowsy and deep in thought.   
  
*She can't know that I want to commit suicide. Can she? She can't. There's no way. She's just making stuff up. She's thinking of other possible things... She's just guessing. They're all much more terrible than killing myself... She's just being dramatic. She's always been that way around me, she's always been saying I'm going to die...*  
  
Ron glanced wearily at Harry. His eyes were wide open and glassy, and he looked deep in horrified thought, as though he *had* listened to Trelawney. Ron nudged him. Harry jumped slightly.  
  
"Don't listen to her, Harry," Ron whispered to him again, firmly. Harry swallowed. He nodded.  
  
Harry yawned. He'd been feeling tired lately, and the air in the Divination room certainly wasn't helping any. He watched Professor Trelawney talk about something, but wasn't hearing a word. Everything drifted off into blackness.  
  
*Where am I?* Harry thought. He was in a completely dark room. He let his eyes adjust, and then was only just barely able to see a tall wizard wearing a mask run past him and through a door to his left. He felt compelled to follow.  
  
He had entered a room that was very nearly as dark as the hallway he had just come from. No one noticed that Harry had entered the room. Harry saw Voldemort, standing apart from a small circle of Death Eaters. The room was old and musty, with its heavy velvet curtains closed. The Death Eater who had passed Harry in the hallway was handing something to Voldemort. He smiled, his evil red eyes glowing as Harry's scar suddenly started to burn.  
  
"No... please... don't..." a voice pleaded from the ground near Voldemort's feet. His eyes only seemed to glow brighter.  
  
"*Crucio!*" his high voice screeched, and the room filled with terrible screaming and Harry's scar burned more fiercely still. Abruptly it stopped, and the Death Eaters laughed.  
  
"What are you willing to do?" Voldemort asked icily to the form on the ground. Panting was the only response. "*What are you willing to do?*" Voldemort asked again, more loudly this time.  
  
"I... I..." panted the voice from the ground.  
  
"*Well?*"  
  
"I won't!" panted the figure.  
  
"You won't?" Voldemort whispered dangerously.  
  
"I won't."  
  
"*Crucio!*"  
  
Someone was shaking Harry. He closed his eyes more tightly, afraid to look what he would see.  
  
"Harry, wake up!" There was something familiar about that voice. Harry snapped open his eyes and saw Ron standing over him. It gave him an odd feeling of deja vu.  
  
He looked around the room to see his classmates staring at him, horrified, and Professor Trelawney looking excited. Harry realized why he felt like this had happened before. It had.  
  
He felt... embarrassed. The first lesson of term and it had happened again, he had fallen asleep and had a vision. He didn't want anyone to witness this.  
  
He left. He got up so quickly and went through the trapdoor so fast that one might have missed it had they blinked.  
  
Then he ran, all the way back to Gryffindor tower and his dorm. He closed his eyes, breathing hard, trying and failing to fight back the burning in his eyes. As the tears slid down his face, he didn't quite understand why that dream had caused him such anguish.  
  
Harry shook his head slightly, a pointless gesture, as if he were telling himself not to be upset. He sat down on his bed and ran his hand over his scar. It felt normal now.  
  
Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He took his knife out of his pocket. He kept it close to him as he did his wand now. He couldn't know why, he spent his days trying *not* to cut, although he constantly craved it. But now he needed it. At *least* to cut, if not to do more.  
  
He expertly opened the blade and tugged up his sleeve, holding his wrist up and out in front of him. Harry looked closely at his veins and felt something like a shiver run through him.  
  
Harry brought down the knife and felt the sweet, temporary release.  
  
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Ron was walking briskly through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, carrying his bag and Harry's, heading toward the Gryffindor common room.  
  
He entered and looked around. Harry wasn't there. He started up the long spiral staircase, all the way to the top, and opened the door to the fifth year dorms.  
  
He froze. Harry was there. He had his sleeve pulled up and was holding a knife over it, which he brought down and cut his wrist with. It caused a reaction Ron couldn't understand. He looked... relieved?  
  
Ron stood there in the doorway, staring, too shocked and confused to move or speak. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks Maxx77, The Lady Sorcha of Sevenwaters, Mioshe, Shadowsofpain, Arizosa, mimatogirl, and whitemudfounder for reviewing to chapter 4!  
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Ron stood there for what seemed like an eternity. There was Harry, sitting there with a knife, looking *happy* that his wrist was cut. Intentionally. By himself. And now he was *watching himself bleed.* What is wrong with him? Ron was lost for words as Harry got up and walked into the bathroom.  
  
Ron walked into the dorm and stood, facing Harry. Harry didn't see him. Ron saw Harry wash away the blood through the open door. Harry examined his wrist one last time, carefully pulled down his sleeve, and turned to leave the bathroom.  
  
He took one step and looking up, froze, the little color in his face draining completely as he saw Ron.  
  
"Er... um..." he said after a few moments, starting to panic. He swallowed as Ron somehow found his voice.  
  
"Harry?" Ron said, having great difficulty finding words. "What-- What were you doing?"  
  
"Um..." Harry answered quietly. He winced. "What all did you see?"  
  
"What did I see? I saw-- I saw you-- I saw you slice your fucking arm open, that's what I saw!" He was yelling now. Harry cringed.  
  
"Ron, Ron, don't yell, please!"  
  
"What were you thinking?!"  
  
"Ron--"  
  
"What's wrong with you?!" he bellowed. Harry tried to get past Ron, but Ron caught him by the shoulders and violently turned him around. Harry looked away.  
  
"Look at me!" Harry obeyed. "What were you thinking?" Ron said in a pleading tone, letting Harry go. Harry gave Ron an apologetic look and then started to leave again, but Ron caught him by the arm, causing Harry to cry out.  
  
"Okay, okay," he said, pulling his arm out of Ron's reach.  
  
"Are you okay?" Ron asked Harry seriously, calming. Harry nodded. "Let me see." Harry's will failing, he let Ron take his arm and pull up the sleeve, revealing everything.  
  
"Shit, Harry, how long has this been going on?" Ron asked quietly.  
  
"A while," Harry responded quietly. A pause. "I was still at the Dursleys'." Ron looked at Harry in shocked, horrified amazement. "It's all right," Harry said, pulling back his arm and pulling down his sleeve.  
  
"Harry, it's not all right. How can you say that?"  
  
"It is, Ron, it's fine. I'm fine."  
  
"No, you're not, Harry. Not if you do this." Harry didn't respond. "So..." Ron seemed lost for words again. "So all this time you managed to keep this, from all of us?" Harry nodded.  
  
"Please don't tell," said Harry quietly, looking at the floor.  
  
"I don't know if I can do that." Harry looked up.  
  
"Please?" he begged.  
  
"We'll see." Harry looked at the floor again. "Why?" Harry looked up. "Why? Why do you do it?" It was a few moments before Harry spoke.  
  
"I-- I just suppose-- I don't know. I just need to." Ron was looking at Harry incredulously. "It's just a way for me to cope." Ron was somewhat puzzled, and seemed lost for words. Eventually he spoke.  
  
"What, so you just cut yourself every time you have one of those dreams?"  
  
"No, of course not," Harry said.  
  
"Then I don't understand."  
  
"It's just... what I do, all right?"  
  
"No. Explain yourself."  
  
"Fine," Harry snapped. " I *can't* cut every time I have a nightmare because they're *always* nightmares, okay? Whether they're those... *visions,* or just any ordinary dream, no. They're-- no. I *need* this, Ron."  
  
"No you don't."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't. You don't need to... cut. We're here for you, Harry. Me, Hermione... anyone. We're here for you. You don't need to cut. You can stop." Harry looked away. He shook his head slowly.  
  
"No," he said quietly.  
  
"What do you mean, 'no'? Yes, Harry, you can. Stop cutting! We're here for you. It'll be all right." Harry shook his head more firmly.  
  
"No, I can't. It won't be."  
  
"Yes it will!" Ron said loudly, starting to get angry.  
  
"No. It won't." Harry said quietly. He paused. "I can't. I can't stop. I can't stop cutting. I--" He searched for the right word. "I crave it now. I need it."  
  
"Really?" Ron asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah," Harry replied solemnly.  
  
"Are you *sure* you can't stop?" Ron pleaded. Harry nodded.  
  
"Please don't tell anyone."  
  
"All right," said Ron, nodding, after several long moments. "Can I tell Hermione?"  
  
"Do you think she'd understand? Do you think she'd keep quiet about it?"  
  
"I don't know," Ron said honestly. "Maybe-- maybe if we both told her, in private, she'd understand. Do you think so?"   
  
"Okay," said Harry, sighing, after a few painful moments. "We'll tell her."  
  
*******************************************  
  
"Erm. Hermione," Ron said. Hermione looked up from her studying. Ron rarely sounded this serious... and why was Harry standing behind him like that, looking guilty?  
  
"What'd you guys do?" she asked shrewdly.  
  
"Nothing!" said Ron defensively. "We just need to tell you something."  
  
"What is it?" she asked.  
  
"Not here," said Ron, glancing about the common room. "We're going to an empty classroom." Hermione, seeing the seriousness of the situation, didn't protest.  
  
"Now what is it?" Hermione asked kindly once they were shut inside an empty classroom.  
  
"Harry has something he wants to tell you." Harry looked sharply at Ron. "Okay, he has something I found out about that he agreed to tell you about."  
  
"Please understand," Harry said.  
  
"I'll try..." Hermione said, puzzled.  
  
"Harry?" Ron urged. Harry sighed loudly.   
  
"I don't know where to start." Silence.  
  
"Well? What did Ron find out?" Hermione asked eventually, the tension getting to her.  
  
Using every ounce of resolution he had, Harry tugged up his sleeve and held his arm out in front of Hermione.  
  
"Oh my god, Harry, what happened?" she asked. Harry couldn't bring himself to respond. He pulled back his arm.  
  
"He did that to himself," said Ron, anger seeping into his words.  
  
"What?! Harry, you did that to yourself?!"  
  
"No use repeating it," he responded.  
  
"Why? How? When?"   
  
"Calm down," Harry said. Hermione sighed deeply.  
  
"Fine. I'm calm. Now tell me. Why? How? When?" Now Harry sighed.  
  
"I'll try. It... um... I've been cutting for since last summer, I was still at the Dursleys. Er... I've been using--" Harry reached into the pocket of his robes. "Well, I've been using this." He held it out to show them. Ron intook his breath sharply. There it was again, that thing which shocked him so thoroughly when he found out. He was beginning to look slightly ill. Harry pulled the knife close to him as Hermione reached out for it.  
  
"Sorry," she muttered.  
  
"You keep it with you?" Ron asked incredulously.  
  
"Well... yeah," said Harry. They didn't seem to be taking all of this as well as he'd hoped. But they did seem better than he expected.  
  
"Well, *why?* Why'd you do it? And how'd you ever even *think* of such an idea?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Er..." Harry couldn't tell them how it all started, with him thinking about suicide. And he certainly couldn't tell them that by now he intended to go through with it. They'd already discovered more than he'd wanted them to. "I don't know. But I do it because-- well, because of--" This seemed impossibly hard for Harry to explain. What had he told Ron earlier? "I do it because I need to. Because of my dreams, mostly, and everything else."  
  
"Everything else?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Everything! All the stuff that happened after the third task last year. Cedric and Voldemort coming back and the Death Eaters and the torture and the duel and putting you in danger and--"  
  
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Ron said, silencing Harry, noticing the horrified, glazed look back in Harry's eyes.  
  
"Harry?" Hermione said, hoping to bring Harry back. She waved a hand in front of his eyes. She shook him slightly, and he shook away the look, replacing it with a very sad one.  
  
"Hmm?" he replied.  
  
"It's all right now, we're here," she said gently. He didn't respond.  
  
"So what's this putting us in danger thing?" Ron asked.  
  
"Oh. Well, I do. Wherever I am it puts everyone around me in danger. I mean, look what happened to Cedric. And I don't want to do that to you guys."  
  
"Harry, we're not going to stop being your friend," Hermione said.  
  
"I know," he said. He sounded surprisingly accepting.  
  
"But Harry, you *need* to stop doing this," Hermione said.  
  
"I told you, I can't," Harry said, a hint of annoyance in his voice now.  
  
"Harry, what are you talking about, of course you can."  
  
"*No,* I can't, I told you. And I don't *want* to, either."  
  
"But Harry, it's *dangerous.* You *need* to stop. Please?"  
  
"No. I can't. I won't. Don't you understand?"  
  
"No, Harry, I don't understand," Hermione yelled.   
  
"Well you should!" Harry yelled back. "This is hard enough for me as it is, I didn't want to tell you in the first place!"  
  
"Harry," Hermione said more quietly, forcing herself to calm down. "You need to stop. It's dangerous. I'm going to tell someone." Harry paled.  
  
"No," he said quietly, horror in his voice. "No, you can't, *please* Hermione!"  
  
"You need to promise to stop."  
  
"I *told* you, I can't!"  
  
"Well then I'll have to tell someone, Harry."  
  
"Hermione--" Ron started.  
  
"*No,* Ron, he needs to stop this before he hurts himself!"  
  
"But you don't understand," Harry said.  
  
"I don't need to understand."  
  
"Try?"  
  
"Fine," Hermione said after an angry moment. "Try to make me understand."  
  
"It's my escape, Hermione. It's the only thing I have."  
  
"You've got *us.*"  
  
"But you can't understand. You don't see what I see. You don't know what it's like for me."  
  
"But we can *try,* Harry, don't you see? We want to help you."  
  
"And I don't want to hurt you," he said. "It's hard enough as it is without dragging you into it. And it wouldn't make me stop cutting anyway."  
  
"Harry, you're hurting us now." These words echoed in Harry's mind. "You need to stop. You need to let us help you." Harry looked pleadingly at Ron.  
  
"Hermione," He started. She turned to him angrily. "Listen, I don't like this anymore than you do, but... maybe we should listen to him. He got me to. I agree with him, Hermione, we shouldn't tell. It would get all blown out of proportion. Maybe this is what he needs. Maybe letting him is the best way to help him." Hermione looked pained, but thought that Ron might be right. After several long moments, she spoke.  
  
"All right. I won't tell. Just be careful, Harry, *please.*"  
  
"I'm careful," he said, truthfully.  
  
"Good," Hermione said resignedly, sighing. Harry was relieved that Hermione had agreed to keep quiet, but something else was bothering him. Little things, like the concerned sadness in Hermione's eyes, and Ron's look of disappointed resignation. And Hermione's words, "Harry, you're hurting us now," kept echoing in his mind. He didn't mean to hurt them. He couldn't bear it. He would have to act soon.  
  
"Thanks," he whispered to her as they left. She didn't say anything in return. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Don't flame me, please, it burns! *hides under fire blanket* Thanks in advance and thanks Shadowsofpain, Amrunofthesummercountry, Maxx77, Arizosa, Esperanza, whitemudfounder, soleil-luna-day, hannirose, kateydidnt, Crystal, and Annalise(coolchick207) for reviewing to the previous chapter!  
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Ron had been having trouble sleeping all night and was therefore easily awoken when Harry woke with a muffled yell. Ron half sat up, leaning on his elbow, and looked concernedly in Harry's direction. After what seemed like years, Ron saw the dark outline of Harry stumbling in the direction of the bathroom, his hand on his forehead. Ron knew Harry was going to cut.  
  
Harry closed the door behind him and slumped against it, sighing deeply. These nights were all so hard. Harry closed his eyes, his only meager attempt to hold back the stinging wetness that was trying to escape. The more time went on, the more the weight of everything seemed to be collapsing on him. And now, with the added weight of Ron and Hermione's knowing, them being hurt by it.... It was all just far too much. He had never wanted to hurt them. It hurt Harry deeply and forcefully knowing that he had caused Ron and Hermione any amount of pain.  
  
Harry slowly got up off the floor and locked the door. He stood by the sink and pulled up his sleeve, then opened the knife. He had never cut two days in a row before, but now there just really wasn't anything holding him back. A moment later there was a sharp stinging pain in his arm. He allowed his thoughts to fade for a few moments as he focused on the pain, then watch the blood gently flow from him. After several minutes it stopped, and soon after Harry's despair began returning to him.  
  
He had never intended to hurt Ron or Hermione in any way at all. The truth was that Harry knew they would tell eventually, it wasn't in their nature not to. And he also knew that the knowledge was causing them a painful inner struggle. How could he have been so careless? It would be good for them, really, besides the obvious aspect of their safety and the safety of others, if he were just completely out of the picture. So that would make it right, as well as just easy.... right?  
  
It was good enough for Harry at the moment. He yanked up his other sleeve and brought the knife to his left hand. He brought the knife to the underside of his wrist, directly over the vein, and cut deeply.  
  
Deep, intense pain shot through him as he started to bleed profusely and he switched hands with the knife. Blinking to try to see more clearly through his tears, he found the vein further up in his arm and brought the knife straight down into it. His knees gave way from the loss of blood, and he was in a sitting position. He finally made a wide, deep cut through the vein he had up until now always avoided, the vein in his left wrist. All would be right now - all in contact with him would be safe, he wouldn't be causing more pain to Ron and Hermione, he wouldn't have to live with nightmares and visions and that constant underlying fear.... He could have peace. He fell back in a warm pool of his own blood, and everything faded away. 


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you soleil-luna-day, Shadowsofpain, whitemudfounder, blackenedsoul, Arizosa, myrhfire, Emry, Kanashimi(thank you twice), Bogan, Maxx77, hannirose, Esperanza, and Mihoshe for reviewing to chapter 6! And sorry you all had to wait so very long for *this*   
  
****************************  
  
Cold. Deep, penetrating cold.  
  
Or maybe the cold came from inside.  
  
Harry's mind was completely blank. He was exhausted, he was aching. He had no idea where he was or how he got there. He just wanted to fall back into unconciousness and never wake back up.  
  
There was a noise. A dull, consistant, far away tapping. Harry wanted it to go away, so that maybe he could lay here and fall asleep forever.  
  
And now a voice. A man's voice. It made Harry's head throb, although it was soft. He would have ignored it, just kept his eyes closed and hoped it would go away, but there was some sort of recognition working in his brain now. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up from the cold, hard floor. The doorknob was rattling now. Everything rushed back to Harry, where he was, how he'd gotten there and why, and who the voice belonged to. Horror came with it. Harry tried to lift his head, tried to cry out, to tell Ron not to unlock the door, not to come in and see this, but he was too weak. As the door opened, Harry fell back into unconciousness.  
  
*****************  
  
Ron gave up on sleep before anyone else in the dormitory woke up, and went downstairs to find Hermione already sitting in the common room.  
  
"What are you doing up?" he asked her.  
  
"Same to you."  
  
"Oh. I couldn't sleep."  
  
"Me too." A pause. "Ron, I really don't have a good feeling about this."  
  
"Well neither do I! But... I don't know... he convinced me somehow. I don't know how, but he did."  
  
"This is so hard," Hermione sighed. "I just can't believe this is happening. I don't want to believe it."  
  
"But it is." There was a long silence. Ron finally spoke again.  
  
"Do you regret it? Not telling?"  
  
Hermione sighed.  
  
"I don't know... I really feel like I should have. It just... seemed to important to him. And to you, because it's important to him."  
  
"Are you going to tell?"  
  
"I said I wouldn't. But I don't know if I can. I just don't want him to...." she trailed off. It was too terrible to say, that Harry might somehow manage to accidentally hurt himself more seriously.  
  
"Let's go down to breakfast, shall we?" Ron suggested, desperate to break the moment.  
  
"All right," Hermione agreed, both knowing full well they'd be too early. As they were getting up she asked, "Where's Harry?"  
  
Ron looked at her pointedly.  
  
"Oh," she said softly. They went downstairs.  
  
***********************************  
  
Harry didn't show up through all of breakfast.  
  
He wasn't in the common room either.  
  
"I'll get him," Ron said, leaving Hermione in the common room as he went up to the dormitory. It was empty.  
  
"Harry?" Ron called. He went to the bathroom door and knocked softly.  
  
"Harry?" Ron called again, softly. No answer. "Harry?" Ron rattled the doorknob. It was locked. He continued to knock. "Harry?" he called. "Harry?" Still no repsonse. He pulled out his wand.   
  
"Alohomora!" The knob turned. Ron opened the door slowly.  
  
"Harry?" he called softly again. Nothing. Ron looked in and saw the unconcious form of Harry lying on the floor, covered with red. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him as horror, confusion, guilt, sadness, and fear hit him all at once. After hesitating only a moment, however, he raced out of the room and down the length of the spiral staircase in record time.  
  
***********************************  
  
All was quiet behind the curtain surrounding Harry's bed in the hospital wing. Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, and Madam Pomfrey were all standing solumnly, staring at Harry, who was pale and asleep. His lips were tinted blue.  
  
"I just can't believe this has happened," Hermione whispered. Her eyes were red, and her face was wet.  
  
"Well there's nothing we can do for him now," said Madam Pomfrey quietly. "Only time."  
  
"Hermione, Ron," Dumbledore said gently. "I was wondering if you two knew about the other cuts on Harry's left wrist." He was answered with a sudden sharp intake of breath from both of them.  
  
"We just found out yesterday, Professor," Hermione said, looking at her feet.   
  
"Why didn't you tell someone?" There was no anger in his voice.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," Ron confessed. "It's my fault. Hermione wanted to tell, but Harry didn't want me to and he convinced me not to and then we ganged up on her and got her to agree not to tell, either."  
  
"Now, now, you mustn't go blaming yourself," Dumbledore said gently. "Either of you. For any of this. The will of someone as desperate as Harry - particularly a best friend - has the capability of making us do things we might not ordinarily have done."  
  
****************************  
  
Harry blearily opened his eyes.  
  
"Harry, you're awake," Hermione whispered. She had been sitting at his bedside, as was Ron.  
  
They went for hours - lots of small talk, lots of silence, all afraid to bring up the obvious.  
  
"So how are you feeling now, Harry?" Ron asked, hours later.  
  
"Better," he choked out. "A lot better." Physically. Compared to how he was, he was stronger. Inside though, he was, if anything, worse. Not only Ron and Hermione, but Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey now knew not only that he was a cutter, but that he was definitely suicidal. This would make everything so much more difficult. He was still just as determined as before.  
  
"You really scared us, Harry," Hermione said.  
  
"I'm sorry." It was true, in some respects. That he was going to worry and endanger them further was mostly why he was sorry.  
  
"I didn't know you wanted to *kill* yourself," Ron said. Harry didn't say anything. "How long were you planning this?"  
  
Harry swallowed.  
  
"Well, I thought about it first last summer. I was still at the Dursleys'." Ron and Hermione looked horrified. "But I wasn't planning it then! I wasn't even planning to try when I got up last night, it just... seemed like the perfect opportunity," he stated quietly. He cast his gaze toward the ground. "Who found me?"  
  
"I did," said Ron. He closed his eyes. A chill swept over Harry. How horrific it must have been for Ron to find him. *How could I have been so careless?*  
  
"Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry," Harry whispered.  
  
Ron swallowed, but could say nothing, only nod. Madam Pomfrey then bustled behind the curtain and shooed them away. 


	8. Chapter 8

a/n: Thanks blackenedsoul, myrhfire, Maxx77, Bogan, Mihoshe, Englishgirl, DaOnlyWolfGurl, and Arizosa for reviewing to Chapter 7!  
  
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Harry was sitting up in his bed in the hospital wing. Dumbledore pulled a chair up next to him behind the curtain surrounding them.  
  
"Harry, I'd like to speak with you before you are released from the hospital wing."  
  
Harry didn't respond.  
  
"Harry, I believe I have an idea, but I need you to tell me why you tried to kill yourself."  
  
Harry said nothing.  
  
"You need to tell me, Harry. It is for your own good. You need to get everything out in the open, you need to heal."  
  
Harry didn't look at him.  
  
"I won't let you leave until you talk to me."  
  
Harry glared at Dumbledore. He may have talked to him, had he not started seeing him less as a god and more of a man. He didn't have absolute faith in Dumbledore's always being right anymore, and that was an incredible hardship for Harry to bear, a crack in the underlying foundation of everything Harry knew and loved.  
  
"Please talk to me, Harry."  
  
Something in his voice melted Harry's defenses slightly. Harry sighed a sad sigh. He couldn't find words. He still wasn't sure he wanted to find them.  
  
"I understand that it obviously must be hard for you to talk about," Dumbledore said gently.  
  
Harry hesitated, then nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he managed to say.  
  
"But will you please try for me?"  
  
"Do I have to?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked hopefully.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. Harry gave a pained expression and paused before continuing.  
  
"I've been through this with Ron and Hermione already."  
  
"You have? When?"  
  
Harry sighed again.  
  
"When we told Hermione I'd been..." Harry didn't need to finish.  
  
"And why were you cutting yourself, Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly. Harry could tell that Dumbledore already knew, that he just wanted to hear it from Harry, that he seemed to think it would help Harry somehow.  
  
"I think you know, Professor," Harry said. Then, "It's a release for me. A way to cope with everything."  
  
"But then you couldn't cope anymore?"  
  
Harry didn't like what Dumbledore was doing. He thought, though, that going along with it a little would be the best way to get him out of the hospital wing.  
  
"Yes," Harry said simply. That wasn't entirely true, that wasn't all of it, but Dumbledore needn't be concerned with that. Harry didn't feel like talking about it, either.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Harry shrugged. He thought quickly for a way to leave this conversation.  
  
"I'm feeling a lot better now. I guess this all has just... made me realize... what a bad idea it was." Harry's insides squirmed. That was the biggest lie he'd ever told.  
  
Harry could tell that Dumbledore didn't quite believe him, but that he also knew he wasn't going to get anymore from Harry. Dumbledore sighed.  
  
"Are you absolutely certain about this?" he asked, giving one more try.  
  
"Yes," Harry lied. "Yes, I am."  
  
****************************  
  
*Well, I almost was a Slytherin,* Harry couldn't help thinking as he finally left the hospital wing with Ron and Hermione. He did feel relieved about having making it out, despite the betrayal of Dumbledore's trust. However, Harry was suffocating under the sad, horrified, sidelong glances Ron and Hermione kept giving him.  
  
"Will you stop looking at me like that?" he finally snapped, startling them.  
  
"Sorry," they muttered.  
  
Hermione looked up and down the corridor to make sure it was deserted, then stopped.  
  
"Harry, please don't try again," she murmured. Harry closed his eyes wearily. He didn't want to lie to them, he didn't want to lie so much in one day. But they were leaving him no choice.  
  
"I won't," he said quietly. "And don't look at me like that!" He turned his gaze away. "Come on, I'm tired, let's go."  
  
***********************************  
  
Harry wasn't tired. He lay awake deep into the night, listening to make sure everyone had fallen asleep. Ron had taken a very long time falling asleep, but now at last he was.  
  
Harry stealthily got up and got the three things he would need: his Invisibility Cloak, his wand, and the Marauder's Map. His knife had, of course, been taken from him. Then he silently stepped out onto the top of the stairwell.  
  
"I solumnly swear that I am up to no good," Harry whispered, tapping the map with his wand. Lines spread out over it and Harry examined it.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and sighed. *Doesn't he ever sleep?* he thought, seeing a small dot labeled "Albus Dumbledore" near the entrance of Gryffindor Tower. Invisible, no doubt, and standing guard in case Harry tried to leave during the night.  
  
Harry threw the cloak over himself and silently went down the stairs. Reaching the portrait hole, he looked at the map again, held his wand ready, and swallowed.  
  
Harry slowly opened the portrait hole. As he started walking out he felt someone holding him back. Next moment, Dumbledore had appeared and Harry's cloak had been pulled off of him. They both were suddenly no longer invisible.  
  
"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, surveying the desperate young man with glittering eyes that stood before him, breathing fast.  
  
Harry shook his head slightly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," he said. "I'm sorry, but you can't stop me. I'm sorry. Stupify!"  
  
Harry took back his Invisibility Cloak and threw it back over himself, breathing even faster than before.   
  
"Oh God, oh God," he muttered to himself. "I'm so sorry, Professor, oh God, oh God." He squinted his eyes shut, then opened them again and continued on, trying to forget what he had just done.  
  
Harry descended into the dungeons, calming down, following the plan he had made in his head.  
  
He reached a hallway, and started looking for a proper place to go. He knew there must be someplace suitable, a room or a closet never used with something to hang a rope down from.  
  
Finally, he found one. A small old classroom, caked with dust. He stepped inside, took off the cloak, and locked the door behind him.  
  
He looked at the map one last time. There was no one anywhere near him.  
  
Harry, the most of his mission completed, now let the tears that had been threatening to escape fall. This was his only option, the only choice he could make now. It would be good, for everyone. Harry would no longer suffer, his friends wouldn't be in such danger, they wouldn't have to think think about him anymore. The whole nightmare would be over.  
  
Harry scraped a chair along the floor, pulling it under a large pipe in the ceiling, leaving tracks in the dust covering the floor.   
  
Harry conjured a length of rope. It was so easy, really. Shaking with sorrow, Harry fashioned a noose. Harry dragged a desk over, and piled books he found lying around the classroom on top of it. He climbed onto them. He reached up and tied the rope to the pipe. He tied it three times, securely, just to be sure it would stay.  
  
Harry climbed down and tugged on the rope one last time, just to be absolutely certain it was tied securely. He pushed the desk away.   
  
Harry stood on the chair.   
  
Tears streaming freely down his face, Harry put his head through the loop.  
  
He kicked away the chair. 


	9. Chapter 9

The bright green eyes of the teenager with the bruises around his neck opened.   
  
Harry looked around, his mind blank, trying to figure out where he was and what he was doing there.  
  
He was in the hospital wing. But why--? Oh. With disbelief, Harry remembered. How on Earth could he have survived that?  
  
Harry started to sit up, the sound of his movement summoning Madam Pomfrey.  
  
"You're awake!" she exclaimed. "Lie down, dear, lie down."  
  
Harry lay, staring at the ceiling, completely confused as to what had happened. Had it been a dream? It couldn't have been. Could it? How was he found? How did he survive? The questions swirled through his mind, putting Harry in something of a daze.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
He was startled back to Earth. Hermione. And Ron. The sight of them gave Harry a sinking feeling in his stomach. When had they come? He looked away and jumped. Dumbledore was on his other side.  
  
"It's all right, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. Harry swallowed and looked at the ceiling, refusing to look at them. He just couldn't take seeing them right now.  
  
"We're very lucky we found you when we did," Dumbledore said quietly.   
  
Harry made an expression of disbelief. Lucky?  
  
"How'd I live?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, looking at Dumbledore, his curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
"Well, the way hanging is supposed to work is the neck is supposed to be broken instantly, then the person being hung loses conciousness and dies within twenty minutes. But if the person is very light -- such as yourself -- then the neck will not be broken and the person will instead be strangled to death." Dumbledore explained solumnly.  
  
"And how'd you find me?" asked Harry quietly.  
  
"Mr. Filch found me shortly after I was stunned--" Harry didn't see the shocked looks on Ron's and Hermione's faces "--and Professor McGonagall woke me up. I told them we had to find you and got many of the other teachers and ghosts to join the search. You were already unconcious when you were found, but you will recover. It was a very close call indeed."  
  
Close call. Harry's whole life seemed to have been a series of close calls.  
  
"Flying fuck," said Harry, picking up one of Ron's more creative vulgarities. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly. This was quite a change from the Harry who would apologize to Dumbledore for calling Rita Skeeter a cow in his presence. Then again, Harry then would not have attempted suicide, either.  
  
"What?" Ron asked, wondering what exactly Harry was thinking. Harry looked over at Ron. He had forgotten they were there.  
  
"Well," Harry said. "It's just... my whole life seems like a series of 'close calls.' It's like I'll never die."  
  
They were all silent for a few moments. They didn't need to think very hard at all to realize how right Harry was.  
  
"Maybe you won't," Ron said, finally, making everyone stare at him. "I mean... maybe it's like... destiny or something. Maybe there's something you need to do yet, so you can't die."  
  
"But what if I don't *want* that destiny?"  
  
"I don't think there's anything you can do about that," Ron replied.  
  
Harry didn't want to believe it. But he couldn't help believing it, at least somewhat. What else could explain why he hadn't died by now? Off the top of his head the total of near misses reached the twenties. Could all of that have been a coincidence? Harry felt he would go mad if he had another failed suicide attempt. But he so desperately wanted to try....  
  
***********************************  
  
The next day Harry was released from the hospital wing. He walked slowly and silently with Ron and Hermione on the way back to the Gryffindor common room.  
  
Harry stopped. It took a moment for Ron and Hermione to notice, they were each so wrapped up in their own sad thoughts. The looked back wearily at Harry, who was looking hungrily out of a window. Ron walked behind him and looked out of it, too. Harry was looking at the lake.  
  
Ron tugged on Harry's sleeve gently.  
  
"Come on, Harry," he said quietly, and they continued on. Ron tried desperately to think of something to tell Harry to prevent an attempt involving the lake.  
  
"Don't do it, Harry," Ron said. He and Harry both knew what Ron was talking about. "It probably wouldn't even work. The Giant Squid would probably chuck you out or something. Like Dennis Creevy. Or the merpeople."  
  
Harry had forgotten entirely about the Giant Squid bringing Dennis Creevy out of the water when he fell in. Ron was probably right, it probably wouldn't even work. Nothing would work, what with his "destiny" and all. It made Harry extremely angry. He wasn't ready to give up just yet.  
  
************************************  
  
Almost immediately after Ron and Harry entered the dormitory, a large black dog greeted them.  
  
"Snuffles?" Harry asked, looking around the room to make sure they were alone. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Instantly the dog was gone and Sirius Black stood in his place. He looked particularly solemn.  
  
"I'm here to see my godson, of course," he said. Harry could tell it was not going to be a cheerful visit.  
  
"Oh," he said, as though being reprimanded.  
  
"Dumbledore's told me what you've done."  
  
"Did he send you?"  
  
"No. He doesn't know I'm here. And it's going to stay that way. But enough about me. Let's talk about you. Ron, please excuse us." Ron slipped out of the room. He sat down in front of the room, guarding the door.  
  
Harry looked at Sirius wearily. Sirius stared steadily back. Finally Sirius spoke.  
  
"You've tried to kill yourself twice in the last week," Sirius said. His voice was more sad than angry, and that is what touched Harry the most.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry said, trying to fight back tears.  
  
"Are you more sorry about what you did or that you failed?" Sirius asked.  
  
"I don't know," Harry said. Then, "That I failed. And that you're mad at me."  
  
"I'm not mad at you," Sirius said, concern on his face.  
  
"I tried to kill myself!" Harry yelled. "Why wouldn't you be mad at me? Why wouldn't that make you mad?"  
  
"Harry, I care about you. You're my godson."  
  
"Aren't you even just a little bit mad?"  
  
"Well..." said Sirius. "Disappointed. But more concerned. Harry, don't try again, I'm here for you, everything will be all right."  
  
"It won't be all right!" Harry cried, staring at Sirius. Disappointed. Sirius was disappointed in him.  
  
"Harry, it will. Good will win in the end," Sirius said. "It has to." Harry picked up on the desperation in Sirius's voice.  
  
"How can you be sure?"  
  
"It... has to, Harry, it just *has* to. Isn't good always supposed to conquer evil?" Now Sirius was sounding choked up.  
  
"I just don't see how it can."  
  
"There has to be something! How'd you escape when he came back? Because there's always something!"  
  
"There's always something with *me*, *I* never die, but Voldemort came back! It's only with me that there's 'always something.' Why can't I die?"  
  
"Harry, what are you talking about?"  
  
Harry looked lost for words for a few moments.  
  
"Ron said something. In the hospital wing. About destiny. Dumbledore said it was a close call, and I said my whole life's been close calls, that it's like I'll never die. And Ron said maybe I can't die because it's my destiny and there's something I need to do yet."  
  
Sirius could tell that at least a part of Harry believed this theory, but that he desperately wished it weren't true. He wasn't getting better.  
  
Now it was Sirius's turn to be lost for words. Finally Harry spoke.  
  
"Why don't you want Dumbledore to know you're here?"  
  
"I'm supposed to be at Remus's. It's safer for me there. And don't change the subject."  
  
"Sirius, don't put yourself in danger just to see me!"  
  
"Put myself in danger? Harry, you're the one who's been putting himself in danger. Trying to... hang yourself and... slitting your wrists." Sirius found it hard to say it. "Did you use the knife I gave you?"  
  
Harry didn't answer.  
  
"Dammit, Harry!"  
  
"Well I don't have it anymore," Harry mumbled.  
  
"Well I should think not. Listen, Harry, I know you're having a hard time right now, but think of what it's doing to those who care about you to see you fall apart like this!"  
  
"I know! If I were gone they wouldn't have to see that. And my *existence* is hurting them. It's hurting anyone around me. They're targets. Look what happened to Cedric."  
  
"Harry... it's not your fault."  
  
"He wouldn't have died if I weren't there."  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"If I had just taken the Cup like he wanted me to and not had that stupid idea to take it together and tie for it--"  
  
Sirius put his hands on Harry's shoulders.  
  
"Harry, no! You couldn't have known! No one can know what's going to happen."  
  
"But I thought you knew good was going to win in the end."  
  
Sirius fell silent.  
  
Harry turned and left.  
  
***********************************  
  
Harry was sitting in a chair in the common room, staring out the window, thinking about everything, particularly his conversation with Sirius. Sirius was disappointed in him. Harry never even thought about Sirius. He was Harry's only family, and Harry had completely neglected him. And Harry was hurting him, because Sirius had to see Harry like this. *"Think of what it's doing to those who care about you to see you fall apart like this!"* Sirius cared about him. But maybe that wasn't enough.  
  
"Harry."  
  
Harry jumped, and looked up to see Ron.  
  
"Snuffles wants to see you," he bent down and whispered.  
  
"He's still here?" Harry asked quietly. Ron nodded. Harry sighed, and followed Ron up to the dormitory.  
  
"Thank you, Ron," Sirius said, with finality in his tone asking Ron to leave.  
  
"You're still here," Harry said after Ron left them alone.  
  
"I am. I'm not giving up on you, Harry. I'm staying."  
  
"What will happen when Dumbledore finds out you're here?"  
  
"He doesn't need to find out."  
  
"But he will."  
  
"You don't want me here?" Sirius asked.   
  
Harry was silent. Sirius's presence confused his thoughts and feelings. It was almost... comforting having Sirius there. Which Harry could see was, of course, Sirius's intention. And Harry's will was starting to give in.  
  
"You could probably get Dumbledore to let you stay," Harry mumbled. In that moment everything changed. They both knew then, somehow, that eventually Harry would get better. He may have been at the lowest of lows, but even his will to die was failing him, and Harry wanted Sirius to stay.  
  
They both started to cry.  
  
THE END 


End file.
